Twas Not as if She Loved Him
by Freesourceful
Summary: She told herself he was merely a tool for a greater purpose. 'Twas not as if she would fall for such a toad-headed buffoon... Morristair fluffy romance fic. *IN-PROGRESS*
1. Prologue

_"One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter." - James Earl Jones_

'Twas not as if she loved him. Oh, yes, he was symmetrical of feature and regular enough of complexion, and he had a head full of hair and white, strong teeth. But what would that matter in the darkness, whether he be of stock good or ill? Or so Flemeth had chuckled as she detailed to her daughter her Plan. Who could tell? After all, was he not just a tool to be reserved for a higher purpose? It was why Flemeth had saved him, of course, and it gave his life greater purpose, whether he knew it or not. And even with Flemeth gone, he was still equally a tool; for her own purpose.

Morrigan stirred the campfire with the end of a log and watched the man sleeping by the red firelight. He stirred slightly at the sound, muttering something indecipherable before sighing as if in great relief. The fire cast red roses across his cheeks and lengthened the shadows below his eyelashes. The streaks streamed like black tears across his face as the fire flickered.

A tool, she told herself. For a greater purpose.

**Author's Note:** This story is an art trade with PolymorphicGirl on deviantArt (Polymorphe here on ). She requested a fluffly Morrigan x Alistair fic. Checkout her dA page for the comics that were the inspiration!


	2. Part 1

"You're creepy," Alistair said, and stuck his tongue out.

"Careful," Morrigan warned, "If I am such an evil, wicked witch as you claim, I might be tempted to freeze that tongue there as it hangs."

"A condition reminiscent of your incident involving uncharitable winter weather and a lamppost," Sten the Qunari remarked, "Not an unwelcome silence, given the company."

"Hey, no one was asking you," complained Alistair, who looked to Oto, their mage and leader, for support.

"Ooo, chil, my 'omeland, da witches, dey would cut deir victims' tongues oot and e't dem!" said Oto in what she probably thought was a mystical deep voice. She waved curled fingers before Alistair in a vague and possibly occult gesture. "It helps dem da learn da udther's tongues." Alistair stared blankly at her.

Oto dropped her hands and rolled her eyes, "Cuz you are what you eat, get it?"

Alistair threw both hands over his mouth with a speed and velocity that made Morrigan laugh. His eyes were wide beneath upraised eyebrows, and the whites were enhanced by his blushing, sanguine complexion. Morrigan smirked the rest of the way into town, casting scornful but amused glances his way as they walked. What she did not see every time she turned to watch was his echoing smile, which was hidden the whole time beneath his hands.


	3. Part 2

The Templar's head kept turning back to the city, back and forth like one of those children's toys with the string bound to a disc. His string wound him back and back and back again to the stone walls of Denerim behind them. 'Twas a curious thing, family. From the instant they entered the city the fool had words for nothing else, begging the Warden to accompany him to a home built near the market stocks. And yet, at the doorstep of his obsession, he could not wait to get away. But the other Warden had coaxed him in, and after some conversation, the templar had stormed out with the wild-haired Oto in tow, the latter still clutching a loaf of hospitality bread while a sallow-haired woman screamed obscenities at them out the door. Morrigan almost found herself liking this half-sister, this Goldanna. She put on a good show. All the more amusing for how her screeching apparently lingered in his mind.

The dark haired mage moved to keep pace just behind Alistair, mischief in her eyes. "Boo," she whispered into his ear, and grinned at the shock in his hazel eyes when he next turned around.

"Baaaaugggggh!" The templar yelped, which made the young witch laugh. Even Oto and the stoic Sten paused to watch, clearly expecting to be entertained.

"So," Morrigan smirked, "You met this sibling of yours?"

Alistair glared at her warily, his eyes guarded. "Half-sister, but yes."

"And she turned out to be an insufferable hag?"

Alistair narrowed his eyes further, wondering what the witch had planned up her proverbial sleeve. The girl wore little enough to conceal any physical weaponry, but her words were often delivered with the sudden strike of hidden daggers. "You'd have liked her," he said, "You two have a lot in common."

"Ah. So tell me Alistair," Morrigan purred, leaning into his armor, "How long exactly did it take for your relative to look at you proper before she ran you out the door?"

Alistair stiffened, then snarled, creases breaking above his forehead. He tried to shove Morrigan aside, but the witch sprang lightly back and grinned at him.

"Witch," Alistair growled, though his eyes were clearly saying something else.

"Ah, look how you moan and wail and gnash your teeth." Morrigan sighed. "Don't cry, now, dear Alistair, 'tis a tragedy to watch a grown man cry. Especially a man in such masculine, plated armor. Your Wardens might think less of you."

"Get out of my face, Apostate." He was clearly trying to spit the words, but choked midway. Alistair turned from the witch, only to find his other companions blinking at him curiously. He turned again, and there was Morrigan once more, her cat-like eyes as opaque as ever. He lifted his arm in an instant, as if to strike, and watched in pleasure as the girl winced.

Morrigan flinched and bit her lip as she looked up at the templar's gauntlet, shining as it caught the sun like a bolt above her head. She was ashamed of herself for showing weakness, ashamed for wincing before this man who was no more than a foolish boy playing at soldier. Morrigan straightened her back and lifted her face defiantly to the templar whose very existence was meant to torment her. She would show no fear to the iron clad oaf who represented everything that persecuted herself and mother. She glared defiance and dared the man to strike her cheek with his metal skin.

Alistair felt ashamed of himself, letting a girl push him to the limits of his temper. The look of fear in her eyes made the golden glow in them shine all the brighter. He found himself staring into the witch's amber eyes, unworldly and ethereal. He lowered his arm, frowning.

"Oh hey, guys, dun start fighting, okay? We gotta save that for the darkspawn!" Chided Oto, who was always reluctant to break up a good argument, but knew from years of experience watching her friend Jowan that while it was fun to watch one person provoke another, it was usually best to stop things before blood was about to be drawn.

Morrigan snorted, feigning nonchalance. "'Twas not I who made such a scene of myself in town as to draw the attention of all the guards upon us."

"Was it not?" cut in the qunari, Sten. "I recall an incident with your miscast fire spell drawing much attention, bas saarebas."

"And when I ask for your opinion, Qunari, I shall say so. Must I answer to you all, now? Can I not simply be?"

"Not when you insist on putting your nose into things that are _none_ of your business," Alistair growled.

Morrigan shrugged. "Sometimes you can get your desire and still suffer horribly. Some things are meant to make you stronger. The world is a hard place and you would be better hardened against it. 'Tis a worthwhile lesson to learn," the dark haired girl sniffed haughtily, "but some perhaps not all can be quite so perceptive."

"Hey, it's okay if Alistair's sister doesn't like him," chimed in Oto. "My parents' sold me to a circus troop for cash. Sometimes I get really angry at them for it and maybe I think about burning their house down with everyone in it, but you know what? Sometimes family just doesn't work out. Let's stop being all serious and just get along!"

The blond-haired Warden beamed at the party, her candor and cheerfulness a stark contrast to the darkness of her words. Alistair sighed. Oto was right, there was no point in arguing further. He turned to his tormentor and shook his head. "It's moments like this when I truly appreciate the difference between you and me." He didn't stay long enough to see the fire light up again in her golden eyes, but he felt sure of them burning into his back as he hurried down the road.

His words hung along the path, and Morrigan opened her mouth to respond, then shut it. Audible only to herself she muttered: "'Tis moments like this when I truly wonder at the difference between you and a toadstool."


	4. Part 3

The sun was high and so were the spirits of the party, having just rescued a band of travelers from a motley party of darkspawn on the road to Orzammar. Alistair wiped his brow and surveyed the carnage around him. Ten feet away, he noticed a lone flower swaying incongruously in the slight wind. Beside it, Morrigan cast one last, blinding spell upon her opponent and the monster clawed futilely at its eyes as it crumpled to the ground, smoking.

Her chest rose and fell as she drew deep, heavy breathes, sweat trickling down her forehead from the exertions. The witch paused as she realized Alistair was watching, and fixed him with an angry glare with her amber eyes. Alistair blanched.

"You need not gape at me as if I were one of your cheese rounds, Templar. I care not for your prejudices about my magic."

"What? I would - I wasn't - You're just a mean old swamp hag and who grumbles a lot and no one would ever want you!"

Morrigan's lips twisted into an expression Alistair couldn't place, somewhere between scorn and hate. Her golden eyes promised fire and retribution as she glared at him intently for several long moments before turning around without another word and stalking off towards the woods.

Alistair bit his lip, feeling stupid. There was no need to provoke her. Why did he say that? He took a few steps in the direction that she walked off in, then stopped. He clenched and unclenched his fist. At his feet was the flower he had noticed earlier, all alone amongst the carnage. He plucked it and touched the smooth simplicity of the voluptuous open petals, seemingly so delicate and yet here it was, a bright bloom amongst the weeds. He looked again in the direction of the departing apostate, a mix of emotions inside him.


End file.
